


Everything This Way

by neverminetohold



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Anchorage, Derogatory Language, Family, Friendship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, War, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: He had been a survivor long before Vault 111.





	1. The Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Part 01 + 02 Summary: War does not determine who is right - only who is left. ~ Bertrand Russell

War never changes.  
  
His grandfather had said that to him, eyes fixed on a point far beyond his curious grandson. It was the only comment he had ever made when it came to his service during WWII. Huddling in a foxhole dug into the frozen ground of the Anchorage Bowl, Aiden found himself agreeing.  
  
Humanity had failed to learn its lesson and was now paying the price. Countries around the globe were dying by degrees or had already gone to ruin, starved of the resources they depended upon. Each nation left guarded its last reserves jealously - and tried to acquire more through force, turning on its neighbors.  
  
China may be the enemy now, but Aiden had no doubt that Canada, with its oilfields, pipeline and pumping stations would be next on Uncle Sam's agenda...  
  
This right here must have been what his grandfather hadn't been able to talk to him about, this sense of brotherhood and camaraderie between soldiers that the drill sergeants had fostered during the grueling training (or in his case tried to), the crass jokes and raucous laughter that had filled the troop transport. - And how those naive notions of honor and glory were ripped apart by the reality of trench warfare.  
  
Nate, newly married, his lovely wife expecting a child, had everything to lose on this strip of lowland. Aiden had been drafted too, much to the horror of their father who feared that his 'pernicious sickness' would be brought to light.  
  
Perhaps he should write Dad, assure him that he had no time to ogle the asses of his fellow soldiers. Aiden shook his head. That wasn't like him. He was neither that bitter about his life, even if it might end tomorrow, nor still fourteen, kissing Thomas Walker in plain view of the kitchen window.  
  
His cheek began to throb and the stitches pulled taut in two places, underneath a thick wrap of bandages and the ointment-drenched gauze that stuck to his skin; its sharp tang tickled his nose. He reached for his R91. Keeping his hands busy and mind focused on the task of field stripping and cleaning his assault rifle instead of wandering aimlessly, had become an important part of his daily routine in an attempt to maintain his sanity.  
  
He lost himself in the motions, the calm that settled over him and the cold that seeped from the metal into his fingertips despite the gloves. He was still alert to his surroundings though, which was why he didn't reach for his sidearm as heavy steps crunched through the frozen snow and stopped above him.  
  
Pebbles of dirt rained down on him, pelted the plates of his combat armor. Some crumbs ended up beneath the folds of his blanket and the stiff collar of his body suit. Aiden looked up, squinting past flurries of snow and the biting wind.  
  
"Something wrong?" he asked, lifting the moss-green fabric in invitation.  
  
Nate didn't answer. Instead he slipped into the foxhole, bringing a little flood of slush with him before he huddled down opposite him, ignoring the offered illusion of warmth. His face was pale and drawn, laughter lines erased. Aiden could feel him shiver where their knees touched; the ceramic rattled softly.  
  
They had been close growing up, inseparable as twins were known to be, for all that they were at odds character-wise. Now, three years into their deployment, Nate sometimes looked at him as if Aiden were a stranger in a way that had nothing to do with his fading scars and fresh burns. Perhaps it was because he, the silent one that never quite fit in the way society wanted him to, thrived here. Aiden didn't like the killing, but he had discovered that he was very good at it.  
  
"Nate?"  
  
"When something happens to me...," Nate said, his voice flat and hollow, head tilted back to watch the aurora borealis as it danced over the night sky, "Promise me you'll protect Nora and the child."  
  
Not if, _when_. This war had changed them both, made them cynical. Mors certa, indeed. And wasn't it sad that Aiden had expected this conversation to happen? He inhaled slowly, let the cold creep into his lungs to fight off a wave of dull despair that tasted bitter on his tongue.  
  
"You know I will."


	2. For Honor

"On your feet, soldier!"  
  
Aiden winced at the volume of the metallic growl and bit down hard on his lip to stifle a moan, one arm wrapped around himself to protect his bruised ribs. The shock wave from the grenade's explosion had knocked the air out of his lungs and thrown him on his back, straight into one of the trenches.  
  
Head bent awkwardly against the frozen mud, he stared up. The clouded sky was blocked out by black armor-plating. The bulk of the Sentry Bot must have shielded him. Its red optics peered at him through the slits of its dented visor.  
  
"On your feet, solider!" it repeated, voice staticky.  
  
It finally dawned on him why getting away from it would be an excellent idea right about now. Aiden scrambled to get on his knees and pull himself up and over the shovel-marked edge. He crawled, in no state to stand just yet, and came to a halt in a waist-high snowdrift. Just in time to avoid the brunt of the boiling steam that blasted from the Sentry Bot's back vents. Metal ground together as its fusion cores were partly ejected and it locked down for the duration of its cooldown period.  
  
Puddles of water sizzled only a few inches from his hand. His skin was hot and moist, as if half-cooked. Aiden winced again and crawled farther away.  
  
It was only then that he noticed the silence. The battle - or rather today's skirmish - had come to an end. Seconds later the moment was broken as orders were shouted in the distance and desperate calls for medics rose into the air, barely heard against the battering howl of the wind.  
  
The Sentry Bot started moving again. It's three legs and mecanum wheels maneuvered it over the ditch dug into the ground. It avoided Aiden, still sitting there half-stunned, not quite trusting that he had survived another day, but others without life-signs - or Reds - were not so fortunate.  
  
Its treads churned up the hard-packed earth while bones crunched and cracked and the snow turned into red slush. The stench of blood and ruptured intestines mixed with the ozone of discharged laser weapons and propellant.  
  
"Thanks Sarge," he muttered after it automatically.  
  
He stared at the carnage, feeling the pressure build behind his temples and bile rise in his throat, leaving a sour taste on his tongue. What am I doing here?  
  
Aiden watched the last spasms run through the outstretched hand of a young Chinese soldier, fingers twitching as if begging for help or mercy. It was far too late for either and Aiden had none to offer. He couldn't afford another black mark in his file and high treason was a different animal than insubordination...  
  
Besides, he had a promise to keep.  
  
"Hěn bào qiàn, qǐng yuán liàng wǒ," Aiden said slowly, voice kept low, working his way through the unfamiliar words with awkward breaks and horrible pronunciation.  
  
It was the least he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 很抱歉 请原谅我. - I'm sorry, please forgive me.


	3. Home

Aiden moved with the push and pull of bodies, each breath too shallow as it whistled through the filters of his mask. Dark smoke from the spreading fire and lighter wisps of tear gas mingled in the air and stung his eyes.  
  
The shop at the other end of the parking lot lay already in ruins, its glass front shattered and shelves picked clean. Shouts echoed through the outskirts of Boston as righteous anger turned from rage to fear.  
  
In this too the mob mentality was in full effect on both sides and Aiden couldn't have said where the line was drawn. 'Just following orders' seemed a poor excuse, here even more so than it had in Alaska. But the letter he carried burned a hole into his pocket, neatly folded inside an invitation to Sanctuary Hills from Nora... So he braced himself, knuckles white and stomach churning.  
  
Three more days of this madness.  
  
Another step forward, heavy boots trampling over banners and signs and the soft, yielding flesh of those that had lost their footing in the chaos. A broken beer bottle scraped over his body armor and his hardwood baton smashed into the clean-shaven face of a middle-aged businessman.  
  
A wide-eyed woman took the man's place, herded against the steel bars of a barrier. She reminded Aiden of his math teacher in elementary school. Hands raised to protect herself, her wrist snapped like a twig under his next blow. Her wailing fell silent behind him.  
  
The officers at his side fired blunt force rounds at the ground, sending them skittering across the pavement to hit the legs of rioters that tried to run. The canned goods and sacks of grain and sugar they had stolen scattered everywhere. Under a hail of fist-sized stones that smacked into helmets and riot shields, the echelon broke apart to allow the arrest team through.  
  
A man who had fired up the crowd, tagged with the neon splatter of a dye round, was cuffed and carried away the moment the batons let up and he lay twitching on the garbage-strewn road.  
  
They were the enemy now, fought on American soil: hungry civilians, dissatisfied with their weekly rations.


End file.
